Mason Novels & Stories

A hammer started somewhere down the road. Mason tensed. Then remembered. Construction. Normal. He relaxed. Bramble noticed. “Okay?” Mason nodded. “Okay.” Bramble studied him. Then pointed at the house. “Home.” Mason looked at it. Repaired porch. Crooked railing. One shutter Rowan had installed upside down. Mason had not fixed it. Mostly because Rowan was very proud of it. “Yeah.” “Home.” Bramble touched his tag. “Mine.”

In an instant, bright light filled the entire study. Mason leaned against the black leather sofa, with black hair, a black shirt, and black trousers. He almost blended with the sofa. He held a half-burnt cigarette in his right hand, not smoking it, his gaze fixed on the snow-white wall. He remained motionless, resembling a statue. "Cousin," Elaine called again, "It's my fault for worrying you." Mason didn't lift his gaze, but took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke that blurred his sharply defined handsome face. There was a hint of complexity in his slightly narrowed eyes.

"Come over here for a second." The man turned around, his eyes scanning us before breaking into a wide, charming grin. Mason. I recognized him instantly from the old college sports clips he was the team’s veteran defenseman and, if I remembered correctly, Aaron’s closest friend. "Hey, boss," Mason said, skating over to the bench door and stepping off the ice onto the rubber floor mats. He wiped his brow with a towel, his eyes landing on me. He gave a polite, appreciative nod. "Don't tell me this is the new PR savior. Please tell me you're here to stop the reporters from asking me about my retirement plans.

We sat in silence. Then he nudged my shoulder. “You stink, by the way.” I smirked. “So do you.” We laughed. Mason appeared a moment later with three mugs of something hot and suspiciously bitter-smelling. He handed me one. “For the soreness. And the visions.” I took it gratefully. “Thanks, doc.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a doctor.” “No, but you’re bossy, emotionally repressed, and always vaguely annoyed. So, same vibe.”

He is the most eligible bachelor in the country and is currently single. "Mary, where are my files, I can't find them," Mason shouted while getting ready for his office... Mason Rhodes, the only heir of Rhodes Industries, is the ideal son for every parent and an Icon for young entrepreneurs. Mason was born with a silver spoon, his father was a well settled Business Tycoon in California, who at once ruled the city, but unfortunately, he died 2 years back, Mason was then involved in his music career, FAB 5 the most lovable and popular band of America,

Hot Chapters

Contract Marriage With Heartless Singer Chapter 9Contract Marriage With Heartless Singer Chapter 8Contract Marriage With Heartless Singer Chapter 7

(Mason) The Warren Global Foundation gala is on Saturday, and I’ve spent most of Friday afternoon trying to talk myself out of what I’m about to do. I’m not winning the argument. The argument keeps going like this. Mason. You’re a grown man. You own a mergers and acquisitions firm. You’re about to weaponize a twenty-six-year-old woman whose primary crime is being too sincere about wellness, in order to provoke a public outburst from the husband of the woman you’re in love with.

Then his jaw shifted, his mouth opening. “Analiese Dawson?” he called out, his voice echoing off the stone. Several heads turned toward my boots in response. So did Takoda’s, his gray eyes narrowing. Mason crossed the hard-packed yard with long, easy strides that no longer belonged to the careless high school football player I remembered. “Well, hell.” A wide grin broke across his features as he stopped several feet away from my position, his boots halting on the gravel, careful not to crowd my space. “Dr. Dawson now, right?”

If he’s at his friend’s house, he won’t be long, which means Nathan will be drunk. “Fifteen more minutes,” I shrug my shoulders, unsure where Nathan might be. “How about we sit in my car to keep warm then,” Mr. Mason offers, motioning to his vehicle. Mr. Mason loves food like me, which is a comfort. Unlike the other cooks here, he’s an older gentleman of sixty years with salt and pepper hair. His family is large, all girls, and he’s always talking about them. “Sounds good to me. Thanks,” I follow behind, shivering.

My father warned. “Of course, sir.” Mason replied, scooting away slightly. What exactly is Mason trying to do? Lying about us being married won't get me out of this mess, especially without any evidence. “Who are you?” My father asked. “Mason Brown, CEO of GGI, the world’s largest and most famous bodyguard company. However, the position I'm most honored to announce is being the husband of this beautiful woman beside me.” Mason said, staring deeply at me.

Me. “You coming?” He shoots his head back inside. I nod and step out of his pickup and follow him into Mason’s breakfast bar. It’s a quirky joint, all brick and wood on the outside with a large timber door. The sign is black slate with white paint on it in large capital letters, MASON’S BREAKFAST BAR. Old man Mason has owned the joint for longer than my daddy has been alive. Rumor has it that old man Mason is in his eighties. Well you wouldn’t think it to look at him.